


permanent

by lunetta



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kinda, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 13:30:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunetta/pseuds/lunetta
Summary: This wasn't the first time Nero wished he knew more about Dante's past, and it definitely wouldn't be the last.The scar on Dante's hand brings out some new feelings in Nero.





	permanent

**Author's Note:**

> for danero week bingo prompt: scars/marks
> 
> some slight blood and injury mentioned in the third paragraph, skip if you need to

Demon blood has its perks, accelerated healing being one of the best, in Nero's opinion.

Nero thought it was pretty odd when he was younger, just adopted by Credo and Kyrie's family, when he'd accidentally nicked his finger with a kitchen knife and the cut had healed before Credo could even press a washcloth to the wound. He was confused and wondered if he maybe imagined the quick sting of pain, as there wasn't a single mark on his finger once the thin line of blood had been wiped away. It was a tiny thing, easily shoved into the back of his mind and forgotten.

Even the most gruesome, gory injuries heal within minutes. Nero vividly remembers being impaled and pined to the wall in Agnus's lab. The feel of blood rushing up his throat as his abdomen is pierced straight through unfortunately still has him waking up some nights, gasping and urgently clutching at his chest, where a gaping, raw hole ought to be.

But there's nothing there. No bloody mess, just his clammy, sweaty skin and his heart rapidly thumping underneath.

And eventually, Dante's warm hand, tiredly flopping on top of his, along with a quiet murmur of, "Go back to sleep, kid."

Dante's hand, rough and calloused, except for a soft, raised mass of scar tissue across the palm.

* * *

Nero had first seen the scar on Dante's hand some months ago, on a rare laundry day where Dante's usual outfit was blessedly included in the wash. Dante's hands completely bare, no gloves in sight, was an even more uncommon occurrence, and Nero eagerly took the opportunity to ogle at them. He probably would've never noticed the scar, if he didn't have such a weird fascination with the older hunter's hands, in the first place.

Dante was _good_ with his hands, from the eased, practiced swings of Rebellion, to more... _intimate_ acts that usually involved Nero underneath him, choking out Dante's name with his legs in the air.

But Dante didn't need to know about that. His ego was already an over-inflated mess, and Nero had no desire to make his smug boyfriend an even more insufferable bastard. Any daydreams Nero might have had about Dante's large hands or his thick fingers were kept to himself.

Those thoughts were abruptly halted when Nero noticed a pale gash, spanning right across Dante's palm. He thought it was a trick of the light at first, from the dingy, dust-speckled bulbs, but when Nero reached out to grasp Dante's wrist and inspect it further, ignoring Dante's questioning hum, he was surprised to see a scar.

Even more strange, it looked old, faded with age. Nero himself didn't have any scars, and Dante was more demon than him by a fair amount – it didn't make sense or some kind of injury to not have healed yet, on top of the fact that Dante apparently got hurt without Nero noticing.

"What's this?" he asked, prodding at Dante's hand with delicate fingers. "Did you burn yourself on the stove?"

Dante sighed, more resigned than annoyed, and dropped the shirt in his other hand, giving up his pathetic attempt at folding laundry with Nero holding his left hand hostage.

"No, I know I'm banished from the kitchen, don't worry," Dante assured him. When no further explanation followed, Nero glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow, and Dante almost immediately looked away, his smile turning wry. After a beat of hesitation, he added, "It's from my brother."

_Oh_.

"Oh," Nero said, gaze falling down from Dante's tense expression to the large hand cradled between his own smaller ones. He almost felt like he shouldn't be touching Dante with his Devil Bringer right now, where his brother's sword was safely kept. Yamato was likely what gave him this scar, but Nero was unable to bring himself to ask, his throat tight.

The wound must have been pretty damn serious for it to have scarred Dante permanently, or maybe that was a result of it being from a Devil Arm.

This wasn't the first time Nero wished he knew more about Dante's past, and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

"Spit it out already," Dante said, folding his arms over his chest. He sounded casual, but there was a lilt in his voice that gave away how guarded he was, as much as his defensive posture did.

Dante hated being vulnerable.

Well, that was fine. Even if he could, Nero would never force Dante to rid himself of the mask he wore.

Cheeks dusted pink in embarrassment, Nero gently raised Dante's hand up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the scar tissue. He didn't dare look at Dante's face as he released his hand and turned back to the pile of laundry.

_The shit I'm willing to do for this idiot_. "Just wanted to kiss it better for you," Nero said, painfully aware of the tremble in his voice and Dante still standing motionless behind him. He hastily dug through the laundry until he found the wadded up ball that was Dante's coat and chucked it in the general direction of Dante's face. "Help me get this shit done or leave," Nero snapped.

He was fully expecting Dante to take the offered copout – one sentence was enough emotional vulnerability for one day – but instead, Nero squeaked in surprise as Dante's arms wrapped around him from behind, bending down to rest his head on Nero's shoulder.

Nero futilely smacked at Dante's forearms. "Don't distract me–"

"Thanks, Nero," Dante murmured, quiet and intimate, emphasizing the words with a light kiss to Nero's neck.

The unexpected tenderness had Nero going slack, leaning back against Dante's chest. Dante could have his moments, sometimes. Nero was far too embarrassed to say anything in response, but Dante was at an ideal angle to see the shy smile on his lips and the flush of his cheeks. That likely told him enough.

And then Dante had to ruin the moment, tightening his hold and nuzzling into Nero's feathery hair with an over-exaggerated coo. "I dunno what I'd do without you," he sighed, "my cute little housewife...!"

Under normal circumstances, Nero would squawk like an angry duck and slam his elbow into Dante's stomach until he let go, but he was in a good enough mood to take the bait in stride. He casually resumed tending to the laundry instead of bothering to uselessly struggle in Dante's hold.

"Maybe you should marry me, if you're gonna call me your wife," Nero teased.

That got Dante to shut up almost as good as a fist to the face would have.

* * *

Nero idly traces his fingertips along Dante's scar as he blankly stares up at the bedroom ceiling.

It's nearly 2am, still plenty of time to sleep. It would be wise to follow Dante's advise and do just that, but Nero can't stop thinking about the mark on Dante's palm. Truthfully, he hasn't been able to get it out of his mind since he first saw it that day.

Curiosity about what exactly happened aside, Nero is strangely... jealous that Dante's brother left a everlasting mark on him.

Dante's brother clearly means a lot to him, from what Nero can tell, despite the older man's usual clamming up at any mention of his past. All Nero knows is that whatever happened between them wasn't good. It must hurt to have a scar like this, forever reminding Dante of someone who isn't there anymore.

But the demon blood in Nero's veins is ridiculously feral with envy. That part of him sees the scar Vergil left as some kind of _claim_ on Dante, and that's not fair at all. Dante is _his_.

...It makes Nero wonder if he can scar, sense someone more demon than him is capable. It's a very appealing thought, Dante in his Devil Trigger, digging his jagged teeth into Nero's shoulder deep enough to draw a torrent of cloying blood and leaving a permanent scar embedded on his body – a clear sign to anyone who sees that he belongs to Dante.

Nero side-eyes Dante, lying next to him and fast asleep once again. He probably wouldn't be into essentially mutilating Nero. It sounds pretty fucked up when he puts it that way, but–

"Still can't sleep, huh?"

Dante yawns, lazily rolling on his side to properly face Nero. Nero inwardly cringes.

"Sorry," he sheepishly offers, "I didn't mean to wake you up again."

"Never went back to bed," Dante assures dismissively. He pulls his hand out of Nero's grasp, reaching upwards to cup his face. "You know how it is," Dante says as he stroke's Nero's cheek with his thumb, "can't sleep without my wife curled up next to me."

Nero groans in annoyance, nudging Dante's hand away, albeit gently. "What did I tell you about calling me that?" he grumbles. Despite his complaints, Nero slides closer to Dante, until their chests are touching and Dante can wrap both arms around his slighter body.

He's not really expecting a response, given the way Dante is already leaning against him like he's seconds away from passing out, but Dante once again proves him wrong.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dante says demurely, pressing a kiss to Nero's forehead. "I'll just have to marry you, so everyone'll know that you're mine, won't I?"

Nero supposes that's just as good.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/glycopoeia)


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